


Flowers in His Heart

by Ephemeral_Joy



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M, FLUFF YOUR TEETH WILL FALL OUT, Fluff, Friendship, Idiots in Love, Love, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Shirbert, mention of Jerry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 06:38:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12906273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ephemeral_Joy/pseuds/Ephemeral_Joy
Summary: ‘Don’t be,’ he said, shaking him head, ‘I was dreaming.’Anne carefully smiled, placing her chin on her palm. ‘About?’Gilbert paused for a moment. How could he reply to that? (“I dreamt about pinning you against the grass and kissing you”, wasn’t exactly an acceptable answer.) Or, he weighed the option, he could work with it.(or: Gilbert and Anne hang out and they definitely do not like each other. At all.)





	Flowers in His Heart

**Author's Note:**

> We're getting a season two, y'all. Let's celebrate.

‘Gilbert, can you _please_ stop mumbling?!’, Anne hissed agitated, eyes flitting towards his amused face.

He’d been back for a month. After eight months and twelve days (Anne had counted the days… not that she would ever admit that to him, or anyone for the matter. The secret would die with her.), he appeared on her doorstep with one rucksack and a sheepish smile. He’d grown taller and tanner. Sadly, it only made Anne’s fantasies about kissing him whilst flowers surrounded them like those in the White Way of Delight, harder to supress. He also didn’t know that. In the beginning, it was awkward, being estranged from one another. But eventually, after a fight about whether Virgil or Ovid was a better poet, and after Anne correctly spelling “extraordinary” (Jerry was floored when he first heard that word), they reconciled and became good friends.  
That led to impromptu walks in the forest, sketching flowers, telling secrets deep into the night in her little home in the woods, and reading at the shore of the Lake of Shining Waters. Like now.  
Up until now, Anne didn’t know Gilbert mumbled whilst reading, as if his mind was too small for the words to fit. She knew that wasn’t true. He was the most intelligent boy she knew.

‘Sorry, Anne,’ he shrugged, totally not apologetic whatsoever. There was something amusing about riling the redhead. The way her eyes would light up if defiance made him want to do it more. He knew they were friends, (he smiled at the thought. _Finally_ , friends with Anne) so she mustn’t actually hate it.  
She narrowed her eyes at him, before picking up where she left off. Psyche was about to find out her lover was Cupid!  
Gilbert tried to focus back on his book, but got distracted by Anne’s hair. It looked almost magical in this light. Her hair was slowly turning auburn, and with the sun hitting it, it seemed bronze. Gilbert was quite intrigued about her hairstyle as well. He’d seen braids before, but never this intricately. She felt Gilbert eyes on her. She tried to ignore it, but her blushing face gave her away. Anne scolded herself. Why couldn’t her face be more subtle.

‘What?’, she asked, turning to him again.  
‘How do you braid hair?’ He smirked when he saw Anne’s baffled look.  
That was not what she had expected. She self-consciously touched her French braid. The tailor in town, who made the beautiful puff sleeved dress for her a year ago, has told her about a trend in France, called French braids. Instead of braiding just the three strands, you take hair with it as you go down. After hours and hours of trying, she finally mastered it. It suited her, she thought. Marilla found it looking regal.

‘Uh – well,’ she shrugged the twine from her hair and untangled the braid. Her tresses were quite long, so it took some time. All the while she felt Gilbert’s wondering gaze on her face as the strands started to adorn her face. Stop staring, she thought. But in the back of her mind she’d rather have him look at her with those beautiful eyes and speak to her like when he told her adventurous stories about his travels, whilst the flames of a fire flickered in his irises with mischief.  
Gilbert felt heat creep in his neck, and not because of the sun. His stomach always did somersaults like the kids in the park when she looked at him like that. He couldn’t decipher it, but it made him feel things he knew he shouldn’t feel for a friend.

He cleared his throat, ‘Anne.’  
‘Sorry,’ she jumped slightly, ‘You take three pieces of hair, like this,’ she demonstrated it, ‘and as you are braiding, you add hair from both sides. Like um –,’ her breath choked as he took a strand and twirled in thoughtfully around his finger, seemingly not aware of his actions. ‘Like this.’  
He looked up, smiled and nodded. ‘Can I try?’  
Her eyes widened. Gilbert braiding her hair, with his hands close to her face? No. That was an absolutely terrible idea. Has he even washed his hands recently? He would just tangle up her hair that would take her hours to fix. No. Bad, horrible idea. Mental even.  
‘Yeah.’

What the hell Shirley.

Anne shifted her body, so she was sitting cross legged in front of him with her back towards him.  
Gilbert took the log hair in for a moment. He has dreamt about how it would be to play with it. Her head in his lap, hair fanned on the grass as she’d point at clouds and make up shapes of it. He’d absentmindedly play the game as well, whilst twirling the hair around his fingers.  
Or not. He blinked.  
‘Don’t mess it up!’, she warned him, already feeling herself heat up as his hands brush her hair over her shoulders, touching her neck.  
‘No promises,’ he teased.

Silence washed over them afterwards, only the gurgling of the lake and the chirping birds as their music.  
His fingers caressed her cheekbone as he took a strand. Anne held her breathe. What was he doing? Did he cast a spell on her or something, turning her completely speechless? She felt Gilbert edge closer.

‘Almost done,’ he whispered. He didn’t need to, but it felt appropriate. The moment felt intimate, for some reason. Perhaps because this was unusual, conversations often laced with humour or satire. They never touched or got close. That wasn’t what friends did. Gilbert furrowed his eyebrows involuntarily, he started to hate that word. “Friends” like Billy were assholes, and “friends” like Anne left you breathless and wanting more. He’d rather not talk to Billy, and kiss Anne senselessly.  
He seriously had to stop daydreaming about her.

Anne stretched her neck, looking over her shoulder. He’d suddenly stopped braiding, and instead of saying anything, she felt him staring at her back.  
But when she looked at him, she was surprised by their proximity, his lips merely inches from hers. And that look on his face… flustered, she hastily created more space.  
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, hand grabbing the end of the braid and tying it quickly. It was okay, she expected it to be worse.  
‘Don’t be,’ he said, shaking him head, ‘I was dreaming.’  
Anne carefully smiled, placing her chin on her palm. ‘About?’  
Gilbert paused for a moment. How could he reply to that? (“I dreamt about pinning you against the grass and kissing you”, wasn’t exactly an acceptable answer.) Or, he weighed the option, he could work with it.  
‘You,’ he winked teasingly, praying his cheeks didn’t heat up and she didn’t hear his heart beating a mile a minute.  
It worked, as she rolled her eyes. ‘You’re ridiculous, Gilbert Blythe.’ Anne threw some grass at him, and he chuckled.

She really hoped her face wasn’t scarlet, or that her sullen feeling was expressed through her eyes. It was idiotic truly. Of all people, she liked Gilbert Blythe? It was as if fate pulled tricks on her.  
Gilbert plucked the grass of his sweater, picking his book back up. When he turned sixteen, people said he was now at the beginning of manhood. But this fourteen, nearly fifteen, year old girl made him question everything he’d ever knew, made him do crazy things and say crazy things. And what scared him the most was that he wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

God, this girl has left a trail of flowers in his heart and they never withered, nor does he want them to.


End file.
